Return Like the Sea
by ingrid-matthews
Summary: Promptfic. Retirement Era: Years of cocaine use are starting to take their toll on Holmes. Watson moves out to live with him and take care of him and they seem to just pick up where they left off when they were together before.


Summary: For the prompt -_ Retirement Era: Years of cocaine use are starting to take their toll on Holmes. Watson moves out to live with him and take care of him and they seem to just pick up where they left off when they were together before._

0o0o

The telegram I received from Mrs. Hudson was short and confusing, but there was something about the 'it's happened, finally' that made me sit up and take notice.

For certainly, in the twenty-five years I've known Sherlock Holmes nothing suddenly changes within that rigid soul without drastic consequences.

We had been separated for some years by now. The younger folks might have said that we'd grown apart, too large for each other's presence. In truth, we'd both grown smaller over the years, less active and in his case, less ambitious. Little engaged that great mind now and I found myself without the necessary patience such a deprivation would demand if I were to expose myself constantly to his presence.

That wasn't to say we no longer communicated. I visited him in Sussex upon occasion while he wrote to me at least once a month, long rambling letters about bees and roses and boredom that made me sigh with regret. I'd often wished there was some way we could return to the comfort of our earlier days, but it seemed, for so long, that was not to be.

Until this mysterious telegram. There was trouble in Holmes' world which only meant one thing.

I was needed.

And when Holmes needed me, I would be there.

0o0o

I arrived at his Sussex cottage a day later, packed accordingly, carrying my medical bag as well as my suitcase. Mrs. Hudson greeted me at the door, wringing her hands and for a moment I was carried back to the past.

"I'm here, I'm here." I said, patting her on the arm and that was enough.

"He's tossed it away, he has," she explained cryptically as she led me inside, although I understood her meaning right away. "Straight into the ocean, bottles, needles, case and all. I thought he'd grow stronger after that, but oh, dear Doctor Watson, he's seen fit to lay down and die on us. I couldn't let that happen. I couldn't!"

"And it won't." I made my way inside the cottage. There were two stories to it, with Holmes' rooms upstairs, the kitchen and Mrs. Hudson's lodgings on the first floor. "Perhaps some tea would be a good start," I requested, mostly to relax her with some simple, familiar work. "Could you make some?"

She seemed very grateful for the diversion. "Oh, yes."

I took off my hat and limped up the stairs. There was no longer a sitting room, it was more of an office really, but that particular door was locked. The bedroom door was ajar and I knocked gently, peeking through the crack.

"Come in, Watson."

I braced myself and plastered on my best grin. A grin that immediately faded once I saw my friend's sallow face and haunted eyes peering up at me from above the bedcovers. "My dear fellow ..." I said.

He looked up at me sadly and I noted that his hands were trembling with fine rigors, too fine to be anything but a physical manifestation of withdrawal. "I never truly believed in payment for sins, until now."

I sat down beside him and gently lifted his wrist to take his pulse which was rapid and thready. "Not a sin, Holmes. At first a folly, turned to an unnatural need. You are not the first to be deceived by this drug's insidious charms. And you will not be the first to break free of its chains."

"Such optimism and cheerful words as always, Doctor. I've missed them. I find your mere presence calms and soothes me." He brightened a little. "Will you stay a short while? I know that you are busy ..."

"Not too busy for you. Doctor Anstruther is as generous as ever with his coverage of my work. Now, tell me what else is bothering you, for this isn't the first time you've suffered from the physical loss of the drug and I find you worse off for it than I've ever seen before."

Holmes shrunk back. His eyes darted nervously away from my face. "I ... I'd rather not discuss it."

I rubbed his shoulder, unhappy to feel how sharp and bony it was. "Then I cannot help. Be honest, Holmes. There is nothing you can say that I've not either heard or will understand, old friend."

"I ..." He grew distressed. "I'm finding that my mental faculties are not what they used to be. I'm growing ... forgetful. Stupid even and at first I thought it was the cocaine finally betraying me, but it's been over a week and the fog, it's not clearing. I'm ... " He inhaled and the tremors increased. "I'm frightened, Watson. To lose any physical part of me is irrelevant, but my mind ..."

He shuddered and I felt a rush of compassion overtake me. "It's only been a week and combined with the sudden loss of the drug, as well as age, it's only natural that full recovery will take longer. Fear not, I will do my best to assist in your restoration, but you must cooperate this time."

His eyes glistened and for a moment I fancied he looked close to tears. "I don't deserve you, you know that."

I heard the rattle of the tea tray and rose to open the door for Mrs. Hudson. "Perfect timing. I think our patient is in dire need of sustenance." I took the tray and placed it by the bed, even as Holmes grumbled. I raised an eyebrow at him and he sheepishly quieted. "Now sit up, that's it and let's catch up on each other's news. Would you like the latest gossip from London?"

His eyes crinkled at the corners with amusement, even as the tea cup shook in his hand. "You know me too well, Watson."

And it was just like old times then, except that I was the animated one, spinning tales and talking while Holmes sat back and absorbed my words silently, his face relaxing with contentment, the shaking of his hands calming a little more every moment.

By the end of tea, he was nearly asleep and I took the empty plate from his hand and let him slide down, tucking the blankets more closely around his shoulders. Hardly realizing what I was doing, I ran an affectionate hand over his cheek and the top of his head.

Instead of berating me for sentimentality, he merely smiled and fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.

0o0o

Weeks passed and Holmes grew stronger in body, but he was correct in his assessment that his quicksilver mind had suffered injury from twenty-plus years of injudicious use of cocaine. He had to struggle to remember common phrases and had trouble following some of our ordinary conversations, which astonished and troubled me, even as I strove not to show any distress.

But as Holmes always said, I was hopeless at dissimulation. "I see you're as flummoxed as I am, Watson. Then again, should we be truly surprised that I, the destroyer of so much, ended up breaking what was most precious to me? I think not."

I found myself irritated with him almost immediately, just as in the old days. "Bullocks," I cursed roundly, making him start, then chuckle. "What is this defeatist talk? Yes, I am concerned but when am I not concerned about you? As for waving away all hope, nonsense! You have no patience. _That_ is your greatest problem, Holmes and as for being destructive, you have saved far more than you ever destroyed. Frankly, the worst of your tendencies have been directed at yourself. So speak no more in this vein, unless you really wish to annoy me."

"Heaven forbid I ever annoy the placid and stoic Doctor Watson," he crooned, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "The man who used to pick up chairs to crash over the heads of clients and villains who annoyed him. Whom I had to stop from beating, shooting and otherwise maiming half the criminals we led to the dock."

I frowned at the memory. "You shouldn't have stopped me," I muttered.

He laughed heartily. "We'd be having this conversation in a jail cell instead of in a cozy cottage then. Still, I'm always fond of your attempts to be the voice of reason coupled with the worst temper God ever gave an Englishman. You are the most delightful riddle of my existence, John Watson I will never figure you out which makes me happier than you could ever know."

I felt my cheeks color at this odd and unexpected compliment. I rose and retrieved a shawl from the door hook and motioned for him to stand up, which he did. I wrapped his shoulders warmly and placed a hat on his head, while leading him to the door. "Fresh air time," I announced, ignoring his eye roll. "There's no use in having a cottage by the sea unless you enjoy its amenities."

"We could visit the bees, I suppose. The keeper I hired is probably killing all of them," Holmes said, watching me closely as I couldn't help but grimace at the word 'bees', for I hated the stinging pests.

Still, I nodded gamely. "We'll visit your flying monsters right after a stroll along the beach."

I led him by the hand outside and arms linked, we walked, listening to the waves and the gulls circling overhead. We stopped for a few moments by the dunes and with some struggle, sat down among the high reeds. His arm slipped from mine while his head leaned down to rest on my shoulder and I couldn't help but tug him closer.

For a long time we sat there, silent and I closed my eyes against the emotion that was welling through me. Thirty years we'd spent as partners and friends, thirty turbulent years complete with separations, anger and enough joy to fill three hundred turns of the world around the sun.

"I wish you could stay," he whispered finally. "I'm lost without you and not just for the sake of my vanity. Boredom is no longer the enemy that loneliness has become, dear Watson."

"There's always Mrs. Hudson," I admonished, pulling him even more tightly to me, as if afraid that if I'd let go, he'd simply fly away.

Holmes chuckled wanly. "That's like saying I'll always have my left arm. She's practically an extension of myself at this point. I need someone who challenges me, who is impossible to ignore. Someone who threatens me with a chair on occasion."

"I never threatened you with a chair. Although you do tempt me sometimes," I said softly as he shivered against me. "We should go inside, you're cold."

"We didn't see the bees yet, although I know you don't want to, so we won't. And you didn't answer my question."

"I didn't know you asked a question."

"Will you stay with me here? I will disband the hives even, if they bother you."

"My dear ..."

"I will be much less trouble, now that I'm not unduly influenced by certain ... chemicals," he claimed, an edge of desperation coloring his voice. "I just want to have you to talk to. Listen to. Even just ... look at. Please."

My throat tightened to the point where I found it difficult to swallow. My eyes stung in the salty breeze of the ocean and I found myself at a loss for the needed eloquence. "I'm not sure that's a good idea, Holmes," I replied gently. "It's true we get along very well for certain periods of time but I'm far too old now to unsettle myself again to live amongst our ... uncertainties."

He burrowed himself in more closely against me. "I am no longer an uncertain entity, Watson, I swear to you. You would be the only distraction I'd seek, your smile my only mystery to solve. My moods are even now, my health shall improve under your kind care and you will be happy here, I shall make sure of it. I know I've asked so many things of you, please indulge me this one final time. Please stay."

At this speech, so tenderly and haltingly spoken, I started weeping in earnest, my hand over my eyes.

"I know it takes courage to trust a liar and reprobate such as myself, but when have you ever lacked that? No, not even now, when you claim that you are old and tired," he said, straightening up and pulling me into a tight embrace. "You are the same bright star you were when we met, you will be the evening star over the waters of Sussex and I will stand happily beneath your light. Stay with me at least until I leave this world."

My laughter at that was watery. "At least?"

"At least. And I shall wait for you on the other side and our life together will begin anew. The peoples of the Hindi religion believe we return again to life over and over again. We can return as anything ... birds ... mice ... bees."

"So I should look for the bee with a pipe in its mouth when I pass on, is that it?" I asked, accepting Holmes offer of a handkerchief and wiping my nose. "Oh, Holmes."

"Stay, Watson," he said more strongly, as he always did when he saw my resolve weakening. God, how well this man knew me. "And if I ever cause you a day's regret, I will personally set up your circumstances back in London exactly as they are now, as if you'd never left. You'll merely have to take a train back and speak to me no more."

"Can I think about it at least?" I asked and he quickly nodded, knowing that I'd already made up my mind to stay.

It's true. I'd never been able to deny Holmes anything, let alone something asked so directly from his heart.

We went back to the cottage where lunch waited. Mrs. Hudson beamed at me and I started to wonder if this was all some conspiracy to ensnare me back into our little family. Knowing Holmes it might not have been far from the truth but the longer I sat there, listening to his voice framed by the soothing sound of the sea, the less I cared.

This would always be my home and all other roofs, as temporary as a hotel. I would return here like the wheel of life would return me to Holmes' side, hopefully _not_ as a bee. Or a mouse.

0o0o

end

Reviews are appreciated.


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